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Notes10/12/2020
Chizza
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Chizza
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19
Trail through the steppe
1820: my life as a bounty hunter took me through many a godforsaken nest, through valleys of death and above all through one thing: lonely landscapes, dry wasteland and starvation for days on end. As romantic as I imagined my existence at the beginning of my career, the reality was sobering. So today I left the lush green valley for the prairie with mixed feelings
I walked past the cattle, which were chewing the wonderful green grass, which smelled of life, so juicy it was. There were only a few barren spots, but these could not cloud the overall picture. So I sucked in the scent of these meadows and fields. By the way, free from olfactory accompaniment of the animal inhabitants. On the way I looked at various settlements of wild thyme, which smelled spicy and preferred these stony areas. Here it thrived, shaped not only the landscape but also the smell of the steppe.
The steppe here in South Dakota was quite picturesque with its herds of bison. The green still smelled of untamed nature but also of the dust of the badlands, which is carried by the wind into the prairie and completes the picture. The further one went in their direction, I had to learn this often, the more this grassy smell decreased. It no longer smelled saturated but successively more inferior as if the desert was taking over. Analogous to its barrenness, the scent became ascetic, not one-dimensional or monotonous, but rather varied in its wasteland. This was also due to the desert mugwort which grew without any problems further out on the dusty ground and is in principle a sage variant. Accordingly, it shaped the grassy scent, seemed bitter and yet sweetish at the same time, and gave the prevailing smell various facets.
But the sweet sublime nature of the grass, the vetiver to be precise, remained the expression of the life that lives in it. A traveller from other continents once told me that they used it to protect and at the same time fence in their fields and fields. This scent accompanied me on my way through the canyon, through the badlands, so that I always remembered the friendlier areas of this region. This helped me on my ways. But I have to be honest with myself: rather faster than slower the original scent vanished and became weaker and weaker. The surrounding countryside broke the energy of the grassland and so the scent lived on in my memory for the most part.
So Cowboy Grass is a fragrance which seems to be a pure grass scent. Animalik is not present, which one could think at the beginning, although Durga has in principle other craft strengths than Animalik. Cowboy Grass seems to have hit what it is. Authentic, interesting and so hardly to be found, the Wild West and its landscape is sketched. Beautiful? Yes. Better than other durgas? I don't think so, but that depends on personal taste. It's not a forest, it's not smoke, it's really grass in several variations. A harmonious scent of some kind. You should know that.
P.S.: how authentic the ingredients are now, I don't know. Vetiver and rosewood are not typically American, but that belongs under the artistic broad coat. Authentic and I mean really realistic natural scents of regions are available at Bravanariz, for example, who cares. Just by the way.
I walked past the cattle, which were chewing the wonderful green grass, which smelled of life, so juicy it was. There were only a few barren spots, but these could not cloud the overall picture. So I sucked in the scent of these meadows and fields. By the way, free from olfactory accompaniment of the animal inhabitants. On the way I looked at various settlements of wild thyme, which smelled spicy and preferred these stony areas. Here it thrived, shaped not only the landscape but also the smell of the steppe.
The steppe here in South Dakota was quite picturesque with its herds of bison. The green still smelled of untamed nature but also of the dust of the badlands, which is carried by the wind into the prairie and completes the picture. The further one went in their direction, I had to learn this often, the more this grassy smell decreased. It no longer smelled saturated but successively more inferior as if the desert was taking over. Analogous to its barrenness, the scent became ascetic, not one-dimensional or monotonous, but rather varied in its wasteland. This was also due to the desert mugwort which grew without any problems further out on the dusty ground and is in principle a sage variant. Accordingly, it shaped the grassy scent, seemed bitter and yet sweetish at the same time, and gave the prevailing smell various facets.
But the sweet sublime nature of the grass, the vetiver to be precise, remained the expression of the life that lives in it. A traveller from other continents once told me that they used it to protect and at the same time fence in their fields and fields. This scent accompanied me on my way through the canyon, through the badlands, so that I always remembered the friendlier areas of this region. This helped me on my ways. But I have to be honest with myself: rather faster than slower the original scent vanished and became weaker and weaker. The surrounding countryside broke the energy of the grassland and so the scent lived on in my memory for the most part.
So Cowboy Grass is a fragrance which seems to be a pure grass scent. Animalik is not present, which one could think at the beginning, although Durga has in principle other craft strengths than Animalik. Cowboy Grass seems to have hit what it is. Authentic, interesting and so hardly to be found, the Wild West and its landscape is sketched. Beautiful? Yes. Better than other durgas? I don't think so, but that depends on personal taste. It's not a forest, it's not smoke, it's really grass in several variations. A harmonious scent of some kind. You should know that.
P.S.: how authentic the ingredients are now, I don't know. Vetiver and rosewood are not typically American, but that belongs under the artistic broad coat. Authentic and I mean really realistic natural scents of regions are available at Bravanariz, for example, who cares. Just by the way.
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